Smooth Criminal
by The Swamp Dragon
Summary: B always knew he was meant for greater things, always had a sneaking suspicion of a true purpose. But no one ever suspected him of this. Foolish teenagers lead to unexpected ties.


**Author's Note- **_Contrary to what has been accused, this story is NOT a tribute to the recent 'tragedy' involving Michael Jackson. AishiExcel and I have been discussing this since at least February of 2009, so lay off. We had no idea the guy was going to kick it. Apart from that, I don't have much to say. A is female, so if you've come here expecting a yaoi, I'm sorry to say you'll be disappointed. This is the first chaptered story I've posted without attempting to complete it first, so the amount of time between chapters may stretch for a while, especially since school is starting. Anywho, here goes._

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Annie. Her name was Annie.

Beyond didn't exactly know why he noticed that immediately about her. Sure, it was customary for his eyes to flick upwards every time he met someone new, but it seemed like he would have found something else intriguing to lock onto first. Like, say, the four different colored belts that hung on her slim hips, or the breasts that seemed too full for a girl her size. Or the dark glare he was receiving for paying attention to said breasts. He shrugged and grinned none too apologetically. B was thirteen now, he couldn't help if he stared.

"A, this is B. Please oblige him to a tour around the orphanage, I'm sure you two will get along swimmingly." the old man cooed from his spot in the hall, adjusting the small glasses on the bridge of his rather large nose. His name was Quillish Wammy, contrary to what he claimed. Even a fool without B's particular gift would have no trouble figuring out that this man was not Asian. He turned slightly away from the both of them. "B, your things will be in your room when the two of you return." he said before walking away in a dignified manner.

Annie, A, snorted softly, one corner of her petite mouth twitching down into a grimace. She looked the boy in front of her over, her emerald eyes scrutinizing the ripped jeans, the ratty sneakers, the too big dress shirt.

B knew that he himself was nothing much to look at; he stood a lanky five four and was probably at least ten pounds underweight. His black hair always seemed to be greasy, even when he pulled the loose curls back into a ponytail to stop them from tickling his shoulders, and little blackheads had recently begun to pop up on the bridge of his nose.

Still, that didn't give the girl any right to judge him. B had worked hard for his clothes, had taken a full thirty minutes to map out each and every blind spot the security cameras possessed in that stupid little store. It wasn't his fault he didn't have time to snatch the right sizes.

That was the entire reason he was here, really, in a strange new place an ocean away from home. But then to call that place home was a farce and a joke. It was little more than a refined juvenile hall, and living off the streets had acquainted B with quite a few of those, though they were never able to keep track of him long enough to record him. He would have been perfectly happy doing that for the rest of his days, had the stupid clerk not recognized him. Who knew that jack off was intelligent enough to remember B…

So, he had been carted off to an orphanage right smack in the middle of Satan's asshole to rot for three entire years. That was a long time to stay in one place when one was used to wandering around. And at least the hobos in the boxcars were interesting, not like the whining, stupid, sniveling masses of snot and hair that had been dubbed 'children'…

The blonde in front of him continued to grimace as she shoved her way past B, motioning slightly for him to follow her.

"That was my room," A muttered, referring to the lofty area they were currently walking away from, "Stay out of it."

B crinkled his nose, but continued to follow behind her. They continued throughout the orphanage, the girl pointing out the dining hall, kitchen, and library as they passed by each room, the huge chapel outside and the stables across the open field behind the orphanage. Beyond found himself… immensely bored throughout, and occupied his mind by watching the girl's hips as they swung from side to side.

She was certainly a tasty-looking morsel, at least in B's testosterone-driven mind. Annie was tiny, flighty, almost resembling a sparrow, with pale blonde hair that barely grazed the top of her dark jeans. She had petite features, a small mouth, tiny upturned nose, high cheekbones, and she spoke with a lilting accent that B couldn't quite place. And green eyes. Hard eyes. Eyes that had seen suffering and cruelty and questions unanswered.

They were the same eyes B had; the color might be different, and the boy was positive he was the only one with his 'gift.' But they both had the eyes of an orphan. Hey. Hey…

"HEY!" B blinked in surprise, snapping out of his thoughts. His vision focused, unfocused, tinted red for a moment, and then returned to normal, meeting a very pissed off teenager. "Don't stare at my ass, pervert!"

Beyond ignored the comment; he hadn't even noticed they had stopped. He glanced around himself, trying to figure out his immediate environment.

It must have been the dorms of the orphanage, seeing as how many identical doors lined each side of the long hallway. A door opened up to a room not unlike Annie's, and B saw his few suitcases sitting atop a naked mattress.

"This is my room." B muttered, stepping in and closing the door after mockingly demanding, "Stay out of it."

B could stand for a lot of things. Bitch was a firm possibility.

He took another look around himself, taking in the tea-colored walls, the hickory floors, the smell of dust and wood and age that permeated the entire mansion. Two large dressers were pushed against a wall, probably in case someone else joined him in the room, and a heavy wooden door opened up to a stark white bathroom. A picture window overlooked the property, and B could see the horse stables Annie had droned on and on about on the horizon. A few children played football down below; Beyond's vision tinted as his eyes attempted to grab their names before apparently realizing that the others were too far away. He blinked until everything returned to its normal color.

Wammy's House certainly seemed like a nice place… but it was still an orphanage, and B was wary. He had a past, and that past made him suspicious and paranoid and, though he hated to admit, scared.

Beyond shook the vivid memories from his head and set to work unpacking. His suitcases were, to put it bluntly, pathetic, as was his wardrobe. A couple of pairs of ripped jeans, a few old t shirts, and two ragged button-ups were all he had. B didn't own any underwear; briefs were far too uncomfortable, and boxers were just a waste of precious time and even more precious money.

Money that could be used for much more important things.

He ran his fingers over his last piece of luggage, a flat cardboard box that looked like it had gone through hell and back. The boy popped the box open, fighting through the layers of tape and bubble wrap to reach his most prized possessions, silently praying they had survived the flight.

B was by no means a prideful person. His vagabond appearance spoke of that. But he loved his collection, coddled it like a mother would her child. Apart from a meal every now and then, the vinyl records were the only thing he ever actually paid for. Not because the stores were armed to the teeth, not because he became friends with the owners, not because it was difficult to stash a record under his shirts (and it was). For some reason, Beyond felt like he should EARN them, earn the small pleasures.

It was as simple as that.

Michael Jackson stared up at him, 'Thriller' written in a spidery scrawl to his right. Beyond carefully lifted the flat carton, setting it onto the plain white mattress. He did the same with Dark Side of the Moon, Houses of the Holy, and three more Jackson albums. Guilty pleasure, indeed…

Perhaps that was why B had noticed her name. He had no idea why he didn't realize it until now. The boy merely shrugged, humming softly to himself as he wiped the dust from his records with the cuff of his sleeve.

_You've been hit by… You've been struck by…_

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_Alright. So there it went. Review if you wish. I'll try to have another chapter posted as soon as possible._


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